


Go Home, Kid, the Party's Over

by Tonight_At_Noon



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Arguing, F/M, Sexual Tension, This is a weird one, alternative universe, and maybe you will too, but i like it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 04:16:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11524365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tonight_At_Noon/pseuds/Tonight_At_Noon
Summary: It is the night before finals, and all Darcy Lewis wants is some peace and quiet.





	Go Home, Kid, the Party's Over

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this today. Was supposed to be a thousand word exercise, but I'm lousy with word limits. Again, it's weird, but, as always, enjoy!

Really, it has gone too far.

The music doesn't even have any words.

It's just noises. Lots of them. Cymbals crashing unceremoniously. Guitars riffing out of time with the synthetic drums. Music major Darcy Lewis is offended by the horrid selection. But this party is being thrown by none other than Bucky Barnes. It comes as no surprise to her that he has horrible taste in "music," if the shit blasting through the speakers can even be called that.

Tomorrow is the start of finals, and she has had enough of this party. Even if none of the other students on her floor care, including her roommate Jane, she does. Badly. She needs to pass all of her classes with As otherwise she'll lose her summer internship with her favourite New York record label. They gave her one requirement once she got accepted--straight As are a must. Lest they decide to choose someone on the wait list.

Darcy's hand is poised over her lecture notes. The desk is shaking. She is shaking. And it has nothing to do with nerves. Closing her eyes, she takes in a deep breath. Her hippie mother taught her that all of life's difficulties can be solved through breathing exercises. Over her three years at university, she has not found this to be factual, but that does not stop her from always pausing to inhale and exhale whenever things get a little too tight in her chest.

She opens her eyes and shakes out her arms. Flexes her aching fingers. Feels the blood rushing to their tips. Pencil poised over her notebook, Darcy re-reads the highlighted bullet points. Suddenly, the bass to the song grows deeper and Darcy's body jerks. Her hand slides across the page. The tip of the pencil is so sharp it digs into the paper and tears a diagonal line.

Stunned, Darcy stares at the rip in her notebook. The floor is still vibrating; the music is so loud, so filling, Darcy can hardly breathe. But then again, that could be the blinding rage strangling her lungs.

"That's it!" she screeches. Darcy tosses her pencil across the room and pushes against the desk, moving her chair out from underneath. She gets to her feet, anger heating her blood until it reaches a steady boil.

Dressed in shabby pyjamas that make her look extra frumpy, Darcy slides her feet into her slippers, shoves her glasses up her nose, and storms out of the dorm room, not giving a damn how ridiculous her and her messy top knot look.

The hallway is pulsing. It is a beating heart, and each dorm room connected to it is an artery or vein. Each student, moving through the sea of other students, into dorms, into the hallway, is a drop of blood. The lights have been turned off, replaced by several multi-coloured disco balls. Alcohol stings the air. Darcy, as she tries to walk down the hall, feels she is growing increasingly drunk just by breathing.

"Watch it, bitch," someone shouts, shoving her towards the wall.

"Fuck you!" she hollers in response. Not her finest moment, but she is in no mood to be pushed around by her peers.

With her brain feeling like it is moments away from leaking out of her ears, Darcy reaches the end of the hallway. To her right is the busiest room on the floor. Though it is no bigger than any of the other dorms, it is filled with students of legal drinking age and not-so-legal drinking age. Darcy sees a table topped with several different brands of alcohol. Limes, pre-sliced into wedges, are in a small bowl next to olives and toothpicks. Dozens of packages of red solo cups look close to falling off the edge of the table.

"There is no way this is legal," Darcy grumbles to herself (at least, she thinks she says it out loud; the music is pouring through her head so loudly she isn't quite sure), pushing her way through the crowd to the back of the room.

He always hangs out there. Out of everyone's eyesight. If people want to talk to him, they have to find him. Unfortunately, everybody always wants to talk to him. His dad is a famous Broadway director. This is a liberal arts college known for its drama program. It only makes sense her fellow classmates are all kiss-asses dying to shove their names down his throat.

Darcy reaches him. She spots his glowing blue eyes as a disco ball hits them. The girl who rammed into her is standing in her way.

 _Time for a taste of your own medicine_ , Darcy thinks, shouldering the girl out of the way.

"Hey!" the girl whines, but Darcy holds her hand up.

"Go find someone else's dick to suck tonight."

Glaring, the girl tosses her long blond hair over her shoulder and retreats from the room.

"Are you offering to take her place?"

Darcy lowers her eyebrows. Bucky is grinning at her. "What?" she shouts.

"Are you going to suck my dick tonight instead? I was really looking forward to Stephanie doing it, but if you're offering . . ."

"Oh my god!" Darcy's face pinches in disgust. "Get your head out of your ballsack."

"What do you want then? If you don't want to suck my dick, that is."

"I came out here to tell you to shut this party down!”

“What?”

Darcy almost bites through her tongue. “God, a fucking earthquake could hit us and we wouldn’t even know! That’s how loud and shaky this shitty music is.” She pauses, breathing in heavily through her nose and letting it out of her mouth. “I’m here to get you to shut this fucking party down!”

"No can do, sweetheart,” Bucky says casually, stroking the stubble on his dimpled chin. “This gig has been planned for weeks. I'm not gonna close it early."

"How did it get started in the first place?" Darcy asks, head swerving around, looking for someone. "Where's Steve? You’ve not tied him up again, have you?”

Steve, their RA, is known for having a stick up his ass. He was raised all-American and has done his best to impart his old-fashioned manners on all of them in the hall.

Each time Bucky—smug Bucky with his long-enough-for-a-man-bun hair and his my-father-is-rich-so-don't-test-me attitude—tries to throw a rager, Steve is usually there to quiet things down. Tall, muscular, and an aspiring actor, he has an air around him that makes people listen when he asks them to do things. Like that one Halloween Bucky tried hiring strippers for the men of their dormitory. Darcy had never heard so much shouting. Steve lost his voice for a week after that.

But, all great men have their downfalls. Steve’s came last semester when, as he spoke to the prettiest girl at their school, Bucky came up behind him and tied him up in order to throw a frat boy a birthday party. He almost got expelled for the stunt.

He would have if his father hadn’t made a phone call to the Dean.

“Steve? My buddy’s over there, sipping on a rum and coke.” Bucky points to the other side of the room where the speakers rattle out the obnoxious music. Darcy squints, but it isn’t difficult to spot the swaying giant with a red solo cup in hand and a gorgeous girl at his side.

“Steve!” Darcy reprimands as the ‘song’ finishes and switches to another equally grating hit. Steve shrugs and mouths _sorry_ before looking back at the girl. “This is crazy. Shut the party down or”—

—“Or what?” Bucky challenges. He folds his large arms over his large chest and glowers down at her. “You’ll call the Dean? The campus police? They all love me. There’s nothing I can’t do.”

Darcy almost shrinks. Bucky Barnes is intimidating, especially to a girl as small as her. But she has had enough of his bullshit. Scowling, she turns her back and drives her way towards the stereo, knocking people out of the way as she moves. Darcy reaches Steve, the venomous anger inside of her spilling overboard, and grabs his half-filled cup.

“What are you doing?” she hears Bucky shout, but it’s too late. Her wrist tilts, and the rum and coke splashes atop the system. There is a crackle and fizz, a bang and pop, and the music comes to an abrupt halt. The swirling disco balls continue their dance, but there comes a collective _awwww_ of disappointment.

“What the fuck? Are you crazy?”

Bucky comes up behind her. He grabs her shoulder, digging his blunt nails into her thick t-shirt. Someone switches on the light in the room, and everyone inside gasps as if they are prisoners out in the sunshine after years locked away.

Ignoring him, she shakes off his hand and faces the crowd. Faces appear by the door. Everyone wants to know what has happened.

“The party is over,” she announces.

“Like hell it is,” Bucky says. “The party is not over,” he assures the hall.

“It is.”

“It isn’t.”

“It fucking is.”

“No, it fucking isn’t!”

They are facing each other, spitting their words. She sees her saliva flying towards his cheeks. Feels his own smack her forehead.

“Darcy’s right! The party is over. Clean up and go to your dorms. And someone turn the damn disco balls off.”

Steve has joined Darcy’s cause, and she couldn’t be more grateful. She offers Bucky a self-satisfied grin to which he responds with a snarl.

“There,” she says. “The party is over.”

“Fuck you, Darcy Lewis!” Bucky calls as she exits his room.

Swaying her hips, she walks back to her dorm with her head stuck in the clouds.

**. . .**

Darcy is finishing up her studies when a light knock comes from the door. She closes her books and rubs her eyes beneath her glasses.

“Who is it?”

No response. Just another knock.

 _Creepy_ , Darcy thinks, but she’s too tired to care. She gets up and heads for the door, rolling her eyes when she passes Jane’s empty bed. The girl decided to spend the night with their across-the-hall neighbour because she was mad at Darcy for stopping the celebrations.

Opening the door, Darcy is shocked to find Bucky Barnes on the other side. He looks exhausted and angry. Not a fine combination, even on one so attractive.

 _Attractive_? she asks herself. _No, no, no, no, no. I am not allowed to think he’s attractive. It’s against the law_!

Darcy squares her shoulders, silencing the voice in her head. “What do you want?”

Bucky leans against the door jamb. “Steve is making me come over to apologise.”

“He’s making you?” Darcy is doing a bad job fighting off a laugh. It bubbles up her throat and sneaks out.

“Yes,” he deadpans. “He’s making me. Could you shut the fuck up and let me say I’m sorry?”

Darcy closes her mouth and nods. “Sorry, sorry. Go ahead.”

“Thank you.” Bucky pauses. Darcy would almost believe he has never had to apologise to anybody in his entire life. His blue eyes find hers. He heaves a great sigh and rests his head against the jamb. “I’m sorry for throwing a party the night before finals. Can you forgive me, please?”

There is such a tiredness in his voice. Such a sincerity. Darcy is thrown off.

“Yeah,” she croaks. Clearing her throat, she nods. “Yes. You’re forgiven.”

“Great.” He heaves himself into a standing position. He looks as though he is about to leave, but he stops himself at the last second. “You’ve always pissed me off so much.”

That came out of left field.

Darcy frowns. “Yeah,” she says, drawing out the single-syllable word. “Ditto.”

“No one says ditto anymore.”

Unbelievable. “I say ditto. I don’t care what anyone else does.”

“See. That’s what I hate about you,” Bucky says.

“The fact that I say ditto?” Darcy’s frown deepens. She can hardly see beneath her brow. “You’ve got weird standards, dude.”

“No, the fact that you don’t care what anyone else thinks.”

“Why does that bother you?”

“I don’t know.” He moves a frustrated hand through his floppy hair. “It just does.”

“Right,” Darcy says. She starts to swing the door closed. “Well, if that’s all you had to say . . .”

Bucky’s hand comes up. The door stops. Darcy is powerless to move it any further.

“I’m not finished,” he says.

Rolling her eyes, Darcy lets the door rock open again. “What else do you want?”

Bucky Barnes does not answer her with words. Perhaps he thinks they are too trivial. Too mundane and useless.

Maybe he’s come to the conclusion they’ve lost all meaning after having been used by so many differing mouths over the past centuries.

Darcy is inclined to agree with him. If those are, after all, his thoughts on the matter.

Bucky Barnes does not answer her with words, but he does answer with his mouth. He steps inside the room, right in front of Darcy. They are close now. So close she can smell him.

Alcohol, mouthwash, sweat.

She can see a scar beside his right eye. A thin and short scar she would never have noticed before.

“What are you doing?” she asks stupidly.

Still, he is silent. Silent as he grabs ahold of her face. One hand slides behind her head, gathering her tangled mess of dark hair. The other travels to the small of her back.

She would do her breathing exercises, but she has funnily enough forgotten how to breathe.

Bathed in electricity, Darcy stands there, stunned, as Bucky bends his tired head and drops his lips on top of hers. The kiss melts against her. _She_ melts against Bucky, her bones turning to jelly. Thankfully, his arm, the one holding her back, keeps her from falling.

Their mouths move together—open shut, open shut, open shut—slowly. There is nothing fierce or dangerous about this kiss. It is gentle; so unlike either of them.

Seconds pass. Minutes fly by. When they break apart, Darcy figures she would not be surprised to learn it is next Friday and she has missed all of her finals. Dizzy, she finds herself staring into Bucky’s wide blue eyes. They’ve never looked so kind before.

“Wow,” she sighs, arms still planted by her sides. “That was really not what I was expecting.”

Bucky’s eyebrows shift above his nose. His bulging forehead makes his eyes smaller. “Yeah. Would you believe me if I told you I’ve been wanting to do that since we met?”

“Um . . . no.”

“Really?” Bucky fully breaks away from her, dropping his hands. He stands up straight, and Darcy hopes he doesn’t see her falter as she tries to regain her footing. “Have I not been obvious?”

“Let’s see . . . a few seconds ago”—at least she thinks it has only been a few seconds, she could be very, very wrong—“you told me how much I pissed you off. In fact, _since we met_ , we’ve constantly gotten on each other’s nerves.”

Bucky’s lips flicker dangerously. “I think that’s part of why I find you so damned sexy.”

“Me?” Darcy glimpses her pyjamas. Suddenly, the glasses on her face feel so _there_. “Sexy?”

“Yes,” he breathes, the single word sending a multitude of shivers down Darcy’s spine.

No one has ever called her sexy before. Not even her high school boyfriend who she was with for nearly four years before they broke up near graduation.

Bucky could just be pulling her leg. He enjoys doing those sorts of things. But there is something in his eye. Something in the way he looks at her. She’s inclined to believe him.

“You,” she says, testing the waters, “are not so bad yourself.”

“I’m not, huh?”

“Mhm. You are also kind of sexy.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Only kind of!”

“Okay,” she acquiesces. Tonight is not the first night she has mentally noted his outrageous attractiveness. She’s seen him coming out of the showers before. Towel wrapped around his waist, water dripping off his toned body. “You’re really, really sexy.”

Bucky is starting to close the gap between them again. “There you go. I like the sound of that.”

Darcy scoffs. “Yeah, because you’re an egomaniac,” she says, but she’s laughing, stepping further into her dorm room, not flinching when Bucky reaches out and slams the door shut.

She runs into her desk, gasping when Bucky’s arms coil around her. She is trapped. Bucky picks her up, placing her on top of the desk.

“Tell me again,” he says, leaning down and pressing his lips against her neck.

Unlike before, she knows what to do with her hands. She brings them up to Bucky’s hair and scratches his scalp. He groans against her skin. The vibrations go straight between Darcy’s thighs.

“What? About how much of egomaniac you are?”

Another kiss. “Yes.”

Darcy closes her eyes. “You’re so unbelievably full of yourself. I can’t believe anybody puts up with you.”

He kisses her throat again and again and again until she is pulling so hard on his hair that he grunts and levels their faces. She stares at him, mouth parted. Closing the few centimetres between them, Bucky captures Darcy’s lips in a soul-sucking kiss.

This is not gentle. This is not sweet and caring. It is pure, liquid fire. Darcy feels her body blistering as Bucky’s tongue sneaks between her teeth.

Sleep is forgotten. Finals are forgotten.

Bucky fills her entirely. He is in her head, her heart. He is slicked against her skin. He crowds her pores and slips inside of her bloodstream. Every word on her lips, every breath that departs her lungs, is his name.

Darcy would be frightened if she didn’t feel so secure. So protected in Bucky’s embrace.

“This is crazy,” she manages to choke out. Her glasses are missing, but she can still see him. That’s all that matters.

Bucky laughs, a panting sort of noise that curls Darcy’s toes. “Yeah,” he agrees. He kisses her lips. “It is.”

Darcy smiles into the next kiss, wondering briefly why it took the two of them so long to find each other.


End file.
